


Put A Little Sugar In My Bowl

by die_traumerei



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (though he still has pre-serum problems), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Cuddling, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Bucky Barnes, because i'm the author that's why, bucky is hung, not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9585488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: Steve's not doing bad. Not great, but he's at least a mostly-not-starving artist. And then he meets Bucky Barnes.Bucky Barnes has money. That's unmistakable. Bucky Barnes is also funny, sweet, affectionate and loves art. And it's not that the money thing doesn't matter, because it does. But it might matter more that suddenly Bucky isn't so lonely and doesn't feel so weird about the things he loves, and suddenly Steve had the chance to do more, push himself further, and still come home at night to make dinner and make time with his lover.And this is the story of how all of that happened; how Steve Rogers got himself a sugar daddy, and how Bucky Barnes fell in love, and how Steve Rogers fell in love right back, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for katherinekittentaylor for Fandom Trumps Hate -- thank you for your winning bid!

Steve let himself in at the buzz and headed for Janet's apartment. She had left the door open, and a blaze of fairy lights and music welcomed him into her place. It was tiny, but easily spilled into an even tinier backyard, and anyway no one cared. This was New York City; no one had a ton of space.

“Stevie!” Janet called his name and he laughed, scooping her up into a hug.

“Hey sweetheart.” They kissed lightly, and Janet giggled as Steve swung her around.

“I missed you!” she said through her laughing.

“I missed you too,” he told her, setting her down carefully. “How was Scotland?”

Janet sighed dramatically. “ _Amazing_. Every part of it. I bought so much fabric, of course.”

“Of course,” Steve agreed, walking over to the tiny wet bar in her kitchen. “Drink?”

“I'm fine, but fix yourself something,” she said, and he added his contribution – a bottle of gin – to the cart, then helped himself to a whiskey on the rocks. “How've you _been_?” she asked, as conversation swirled around them. The party was a good one – busy, but not overwhelming, and Steve didn't have to concentrate too hard to hear her over everything else.

“About the usual,” he said. “Oh! I got invited to a portrait show in Queens in a few months. That'll be pretty cool.”

“Awesome,” Janet approved. “You gonna be at the craft show at Art Squared next week?”

Steve made a face. “Maybe. I reserved a table, but I always do pretty shitty there. Not really a my-style of fine art crowd.”

“Awww,” Janet said. “Look, I got a lot of space. Ditch the table and drop off some small pieces with me. You'll get whatever sells, I just want something to decorate the place with.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I got your back, dude.”

Steve laughed and toasted her, and looked up as someone approached, and tried very hard not to actually swallow his tongue.

“Guh,” he said, very intelligently.

Janet looked up too and her face lit up. “Bucky! You made it!”

Bucky, for that was this literally perfect human being's name, grinned at her. “Like I'm gonna miss this, sweetheart.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then stood up and twirled a finger. “Spin, please?”

Janet rolled her eyes, but did a little twirl for him, while his whistled his approval. “Gorgeous, honey.”

“You think everything I make is gorgeous,” she said.

“It is,” the two men chorused, and smiled at one another.

“Bucky Barnes,” Human Perfection said, holding his hand out. Steve noticed he kept his left hand in his trouser pocket, but didn't think too much of it.

“Steve Rogers. Good to meet you,” he said, shaking Bucky's hand. “Fix you a drink?”

“Please. Whatever you're having?”

Steve laughed, and made Bucky a whiskey on the rocks, and topped his own drink up. “You asked for it...”

“This is great, thank you.” They toasted each other, and moved away a little, out of the main flow of the party. Janet had long ago been pulled away by another friend's arrival. “So how d'you know Janet?”

“We were at Tisch together. Different programs, of course, but we had a few overlapping classes,” Steve explained. “You?”

“Nothin' good like that,” Bucky said, blushing a little. “I bought a few of her pieces last year. I'm kind of a fanboy, really. She puts up with me.”

Steve was going to keel over and die with how cute this dude was. “No fuckin' way, that's awesome of you!”

Bucky laughed and ran his left hand through his hair. He wore a glove on it. Huh, a bit more avant-garde than Bucky's nice trousers, button-down and seersucker jacket would really have indicated, but if he bought Janet's clothes, well, a little touch of odd would be just perfect. “What did you study, then?”

“Fine art,” Steve said. “Oil painting, really – mostly representational stuff. What d'you do?”

Bucky's eyes lit up. “Wait, you're still doing it? Art, I mean, like you're an artist?”

And then it was Steve's turn to blush and take a big sip of his drink. “Yeah. I'm not famous – not even Brooklyn-famous, honest – but I make a living at it.” More or less. A pretty poor living, but he wasn't in the streets.

“That's so cool!” Bucky laughed. “Are you in galleries around here? Would I know you?”

“Maybe?” Steve named a few galleries carrying his stuff, and Bucky's eyes lit up at one. 

“Oh, I go there a lot. Wait, Steve Rogers?”

Steve nodded.

“Did you do a portrait of a man – full length nude, black guy – on a neutral background? Dude was holding a feather?” Bucky asked excitedly.

Steve blinked. “Yeah, I did actually. You  _remember_ that?”

“Remember!” Bucky laughed and took a sip of his glass. “Steve, honest to God, I am not a violent or jealous person, I promise. But that's the closest I've come to seriously planning to have someone killed. I was going to buy that,” he explained. “I literally just needed to come home from a business trip, and then I went to the gallery the _next day_ and some asshole had bought it. I shit you not, I was about to start, like, finding out if I had a Mafia connection in my family or something.”

Steve was laughing so hard he almost fell over. “Please don't murder anyone for my work,” he said. “Please. I promise, I'm working on another piece with Sam in it.”

“Dibs,” Bucky said immediately. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? It's gonna be life-size.” And not cheap.

“ _Dibs_ ,” Bucky insisted. “I'm not joking, Steve. I'll sign a contract with you tomorrow. I love your work.”

“You really aren't joking,” Steve said softly.

“I really, _really_ love how you paint men,” Bucky said, just as softly. “Sam – that's your model, right?” he kept going at Steve's nod. “Are you close with him?”

Steve grinned, a warm feeling in his belly. “Yeah. We're best friends.”

“It comes through,” Bucky said, and Steve could have hugged him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Have you been to Janet's place before?”

Bucky shook his head.

“I'll show you something awesome, then. Follow me,” Steve ordered. He led Bucky to the other side of the little kitchen, to the loft where Janet's bed and dresser were. They climbed up the ladder, and once they were in the loft, Steve opened the window over her bed and wiggled through to a fire escape.

It was abruptly quiet – almost as silent as New York could ever get. The fire escape looked out over a small with a big, wooded park on the other side. The summer night was heavy and hot, the trees glowing darkly under the street lamps. The park looked almost magical; someplace mysterious and hidden in the heavy, humid air.

“Whoa,” Bucky whispered, sitting down beside Steve. “This is awesome.”

Steve grinned, and clinked his glass with Bucky's. “Uh huh.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly.

“You're welcome.”

They sat in silence for a little bit, drinking and watching the nightscape below them.

“Oh, hey,” Steve said. “You never answered my question. What d'you do?”

Bucky chuckled and set his drink down. “Sorry, I didn't, did I? I'm an engineer, mostly. I make...well, it's easier to show you.”

He stripped the glove off of his left hand, and Steve tried not to  _visibly_ react, at least. Bucky's hand was metal; dozens of interlocking plates. He turned his hand over and moved his fingers, fluid and natural, and every bit of whiskey in his body went right to Steve's head.

“Whoa,” he whispered, and tried not to whimper when Bucky drew his hand back, hiding it against his stomach.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I know it's sort of uncanny-valley at first, it takes a little getting used to...”

“It's _beautiful_ ,” Steve said, stupified. “It's not uncanny at all. Bucky, it's so gorgeous. Did you make your own hand?”

Bucky gave him a shy little smile and held his hand back out. “Not exactly. It's my whole arm, for starters. I just figured out how to make a specific power source work with some components I invented. It's obviously not exactly gears and pulleys in there, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, and held his hand out. “Please – may I touch? Just for a moment?”

“If you like,” Bucky said, looking startled now.

Steve reached out with his left hand and gently clasped Bucky's. It was cool to the touch, hard and resistant, but he could feel the plates shifting under his hand. He squeezed softly, and then let go. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky blushed deeply, and scratched the back of his head, eyes lowered. “So, yeah. Uh. That's the quick version of what I do.”

“What's the long version?”

“Too long for tonight.” Bucky laughed. “I can give you the long _er_ version, though. I kinda started my own company to make robotic components, and used Stark's arc reactor to power them. He thought that was pretty awesome, the way I was marrying his power source with my own designs. Technically I run my own company still, but I work pretty closely with Tony, and when he decided he wanted a prosthetics division, it was pretty easy to fold that into my work.” He blushed harder. “It's most of my work now. It's...pretty fucking amazing, actually.”

“That's so cool,” Steve breathed. “Bucky, _you're_ so cool.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed. “I am a  _giant nerd_ I will have you know.”

“Whatever, you're totally cool.” Steve kicked his foot gently. “You can't fool me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Whatever you wanna believe, kiddo.” He nudged Steve back, and they finished their drinks in contented silence, occasionally kicking or elbowing each other.

Bucky slipped the glove back on as they made ready to go back to the party. “Sometimes I  _really_ just don't feel like telling the same story over and over,” he explained. “Easier to be a little incognito this way.”

“In that case, thank you for telling me,” Steve said. “Really, Bucky. I hope I didn't pry.”

Bucky smiled at him from under his lashes. “I don't mind telling you, Steve.”

Steve swallowed hard, and managed to tumble onto Janet's bed when he was climbing through the window. In his defense, though, it was harder to climb through the little window with a raging hard-on than he'd thought it would be.

Bucky only laughed at him a little bit, and they spent the rest of the night mingling at the party. Not always together, but always coming back together; one never far from the other. It felt like the easiest thing in the world for Steve to slip his arm around Bucky's waist and introduce him to a friend.

It turned out that Steve knew far more people than Bucky, and he felt strangely gallant, introducing Bucky around, drawing him into conversations. He introduced him to a few people who he knew shared an interest in robotics, and it was the most natural thing in the world to leave Bucky to it while Steve went to refresh their drinks.

Janet waylaid him on his way back out to the garden, and Bucky. “So you two are getting along well,” she said brightly.

“Yup,” Steve said blandly. “We are.”

Janet continued to smile at him.

Steve took a sip of whiskey. He wasn't really a patient man, but when it came to being a shit to his friends, he could wait all night.

“Bite my _entire ass_ ,” Janet informed him, and swanned off.

Feeling particularly smug, Steve headed back out to the garden, slipping Bucky his drink before being pulled away by another friend to talk technique.

Steve was just on the verge of yawning when he felt Bucky's arms slip around his waist, and Bucky's head rest on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Sorry to interrupt, but I'm gonna head home.”

“Wait up,” Steve said. “I'll leave with you. I'm pretty ready for home too.” He bid his friends goodbye, washed his and Bucky's glasses (“Oh my God, you're so _good_. It's gross,” Bucky said, before he dried the glasses and put them away) and kissed Janet goodbye.

“I'm going back to Manhattan,” Bucky said. “Uh. You?”

Steve smiled. “I live a few blocks away. Walk you to your subway stop?”

“Thanks. I'd like that.”

Steve slipped his arm around Bucky's waist, hauling him close. It was still humid, but not unbearably hot; a little cuddle wouldn't hurt. And Bucky slipped his hand around to the small of Steve's back, thumb rubbing the line of his spine.

They were quiet on the walk, until the entrance to the subway.

“Uh. So. This is me,” Bucky said, and Steve let go.

“It was really great meeting you,” he said quietly, making excellent eye contact with the ground.

“Yeah, it was,” Bucky said warmly. “I had a lot of fun with you tonight.” 

“Can I get your number?” they blurted out simultaneously, and burst out laughing.

Steve  _knew_ he was bright red, and doing the thing there he was just rubbing the back of his neck, when Bucky put his phone into Steve's free hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “Put your number in? Please?”

Steve typed his number (it took four tries), and then texted himself so he'd have Bucky's number.

“So,” he said. “You busy tomorrow?”

Bucky shook his head, smile growing. “Want to get brunch?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that'd be great.” Steve couldn't stop grinning. He was going to have a date with this brilliant, easy, charming man. “Want me to go out to your neighborhood?”

“That would be great. I know just the place,” Bucky said. “I'll text it to you tomorrow.” He stepped a little closer. “Have a good night, Steve.”

“You too,” Steve said, and leaned in like it was nothing, and kissed Bucky Barnes good night.

And Bucky Barnes kissed him good night back, and it was the  _best_ .

They were both grinning like idiots when they pulled apart and Bucky turned towards the stairs. “Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow for brunch,” Steve promised. “Travel safe, Bucky.”

“You too.” Bucky started down the stairs, made it two steps, turned around and Steve leaned over the railing far enough to kiss him again.

“Bye,” Bucky whispered, and all but ran down the steps.

Steve felt a little like running himself, or maybe floating, as he headed home through quiet summer streets.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Bucky:** _ _Still up for brunch?_

_**Steve:** _ _Hell yeah! Meet in Manhattan?_

_**Bucky:** _ _If you don't mind schlepping out here? I know an awesome little place around the corner_

_**Bucky:** _ _And we can always go and hang out at my place afterwards :)_

_**Steve:** _ _I would love that._

_**Bucky:** _ _Sweet!_

 

Bucky texted him the address, and Steve raised his eyebrows. That was a  _nice_ part of SoHo. But if he was going to blow his eating-out budget on anything, brunch with Bucky was the way to do it, he figured.

Steve only spent a slightly stupid amount of time picking out clothes, finally setting on jeans and a t-shirt, because he was the most boring artist ever.

The way Bucky's eyes widened slightly as soon as he saw Steve made it all worth it, though. And he  _could_ pull off the All-American boy thing, to be fair.

Bucky, totally  _un_ fairly, was gorgeous in black jeans and a linen shirt. Even his hair was perfect. He had left his hand uncovered, though the long-sleeved shirt was only rolled halfway up his forearms.

“Hey,” Steve said, feeling a little shy, and then feeling _very_ happy when Bucky pulled him into a hug and a quick kiss.

“Hi, you.” Another quick kiss, then Bucky let him go. “How're you feeling?”

“Fine. Whiskey never bothers me,” Steve admitted, following Bucky into a poky-looking little cafe.

“Lucky. Not a real hangover,” Bucky admitted when Steve looked concerned, “just woke up with a headache.”

“Next time I'll make you drink water before bed,” Steve threatened. They took a seat in the window, the two of them barely fitting into the funky old chairs around a tiny Formica table.

It was pretty obvious that Bucky had money, and Steve would not have bet that he would even know about, let alone  _choose_ to go to a place like this. The mystery was revealed soon enough, though.

“We're getting pierogis,” Bucky informed him. “This place has the best Eastern European food in the borough. Possibly in the state.” He grinned. “Hope you like to eat your own weight in blini.”

“Oh my God, let's do brunch every Sunday,” was Steve's answer, and he was pleased when Bucky laughed.

They put in their orders – including a pot of coffee, and Steve ordered water for both of them, pulling a bottle of ibuprofen out of his bag and handing it to Bucky.

“I'll be fine! But thank you.” Bucky grinned, lowering his eyelashes. “So next time you'll make me drink water, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, on pretty firm ground since no one could mistake this for anything _but_ flirting. “Next time.”

“So you want there to be a next time?”

“Yeah,” Steve said again, more gently. “I kinda really do. You?”

“Oh _hell_ yes.” Bucky grinned when Steve started laughing. “Fuck me, darling, I don't let good things like you get away.”

“So I'm a good thing?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I think you really are.” Bucky reached for him under the table (their knees were touching, so it wasn't much of a feat), and Steve reached back, twining their fingers together. 

They lingered, eating plate after plate of delicious food, toasting each other with coffee, and Bucky assured Steve that his headache had cleared up. They talked a little bit about Steve's work, and Bucky's, and a lot about what they were reading. (“Well, trying to,” Bucky admitted. “Internet.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve agreed.)

Brunch wound up over Bucky explaining some of the physics of his arm, showing Steve how he'd completely bypassed mimicking human structures.

“There's just not the room for tendons and stuff. People are really _efficient_ , at least for the most part,” he explained. “No machine will ever work the same way.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve agreed, and turned his head, pointing at his ear. “These work great. But not as good as an actual working eardrum.

“Wait, what? You're hard-of-hearing?” Bucky laughed, reaching out to gently touched the shell of Steve's ear. “Sorry, I mean, it doesn't make any difference to me. I just never noticed before.”

“They're pretty hard to see,” Steve agreed. They were the tiny, in-ear style, a dark beige that blended in well. “And yeah, I am hard-of-hearing, on both sides. Which, actually – last night was fine, but if we're ever somewhere really loud, make sure I can see you when you're talking to me?”

“Of course,” Bucky assured him, pulling his hand back and squeezing Steve's shoulder.

Steve, feeling particularly brave, gave him a  _very_ nice smile. “I gotta take 'em out at night, so pillow talk can be a pain in the ass.”

“I think I can live with that,” Bucky said, returning his smile with one that made Steve's stomach flutter.

They split the meal – which was considerably cheaper than Steve had expected, which was a nice bonus, and headed out.

“So, uh. Want to go back to my place? We can watch a movie or something,” Bucky offered.

“Yeah,” Steve said, slipping his hand into Bucky's, just to make sure that there was no hint of subtlety. “I'd like that a lot.”

“I'm just a few blocks away,” Bucky said, and they walked through the streets. Not quite a stroll – this was _Manhattan_ , after all – but not in a hurry, either. There was something delicious in the air between them, and Steve was damn well going to savor it.

Bucky's building was tall, and he nodded hello to the doorman. The foyer was beautiful, and Steve tried not to obviously gape at the art nouveau fixtures.

“Are those original?” he murmured, and Bucky nodded, looking uncertain. Even kind of...guilty?

“Hey,” Steve said, and squeezed Bucky's hand. “Dude. I figured out you have money. I'm still here with you, okay?”

He could  _see_ Bucky's shoulders relax. “Uh. Am I a dick about it?”

“What? _No_. No, you aren't, at all.” Steve frowned. “Did someone tell you you were a dick?”

They got onto the elevator, thankfully empty.

“If I say yes, will you punch them?” Bucky asked curiously.

“Probably.”

Bucky laughed. “Nah, I'm just joking. You looked so fighty!” He shook his head. “Look, I'll tell you the whole story once we're inside. And no one's told me I'm a dick, but...yeah. I worry.”

“Bucky, you're like the nicest person I've met this year. Possibly ever.” Steve wrapped an arm around his waist. “You're fine.” He paused, and remembered his manners. “And your building is beautiful.”

The elevator dinged and they got off – not the top floor, Steve noted, but close to it.

Bucky led him to the end of the corridor, and let them into his apartment. They entered into a little foyer, with an umbrella and an actual, honest-to-God hat stand, and a few other things for storage; a light jacket hung up on pegs and a mirror. A short hallway led to a wide, double-height room, one wall filled with oversized windows that let the light stream in.

“Whoa,” Steve breathed, gazing out over the cityscape. “Bucky, this is _gorgeous_.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said warmly. “I'm really, really proud of this place.”

“You should be. You have amazing taste,” Steve said, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured softly, looping his arms around Steve's shoulders.

“You're not a dick,” Steve told him. “And I'll punch anybody who says so.”

“My hero,” Bucky giggled softly, and hugged him tightly. “Here, I'll give you the tour.”

“Please.” 

The living room was bigger than Steve's entire apartment, with comfy-looking furniture scattered around, and bookcases and plants placed freely. There was a nice TV and a sofa at one end, and the rest of the space was open and welcoming. There were paintings and prints hung on nearly every clear surface, and Steve exclaimed aloud when he saw that Bucky had bought a few pieces a friend of Steve's had done.

“We are talking about art _so much_ ,” Bucky assured him.

“Do you paint at all?”

Bucky shook his head quickly. “I can do a good technical drawing, or a schematic. But for the rest...” He shook his head and tapped his temple. “No creativity up here.”

“Oh that is such fucking bullshit,” Steve said. “You told me yourself you invented a lot of what went into your arm.” He shook his head. “It's not all painting. You're creative as hell, Bucky, you need to give yourself more credit.”

Bucky smiled at that. “ _Fine_ . Anyway, yeah. I buy it better than I could ever make it.”

“I'll give you that,” Steve grumped. “Barely.”

Bucky laughed and elbowed him, and the tour paused for a quick slap fight, won when Bucky surprised him with a kiss that left Steve starry-eyed.

The back wall of the living room curved in an organic ogee, and Bucky showed him around a corner to a cleverly-placed kitchen. There was less light back there, but it was cheerful and brightly-colored, and clearly lived-in and used, as the sinkful of dirty dishes and the folded-back copy of  _The New Yorker_ attested to.

There turned out to be a small bathroom off of the hall, and then Bucky led Steve up an open staircase to the lofted bedroom. It took up half of the apartment, looking out over the living room, and was messy and cozy. A big bed, unmade, was pushed against one wall. There was a dresser, mirror and open closet to make up the bedroom. A desk and chair – clearly a small office – filled the space across from the little sleeping space, and Steve could see a bigger bathroom through an open door.

There was art everywhere here, too, and Steve was drawn to a particular painting hung over the bed.

“Yeah, that's one of my favorites,” Bucky said shyly. “The first one I ever bought.”

“I think I recognize...” Steve named an artist, and Bucky nodded.

“Oh, wow,” Steve breathed, and grinned at him. “It's gorgeous, Bucky. I was heartbroken when he died a few years ago.”

“Yeah. That's. Uh. Kinda why I bought it,” Bucky said, and winced. “Sorry, that sounds horrible. Come downstairs and I'll tell you the whole story?”

“Okay,” Steve said, curious and...worried. Definitely worried, because this sounded big, and it didn't sound good.

He followed Bucky back to the living room and they settled on a loveseat, practically hidden behind a big fern and a table of orchids.

“C'mere,” Steve said, and held out his arms, gathering Bucky into a hug. “I wanna start real quick by saying that I've been through a lot. You're not gonna scare me off, and I _know_ that's what you're thinking, because you're about as difficult to read as a billboard. So don't worry about that. Promise me.”

Bucky giggled and kissed Steve. “I promise. Thank you.” He smiled a little. “Well, now this is all gonna be kinda disappointing.” He sat up and pulled away, but still held Steve's hands, squeezing them lightly. “I grew up pretty working-class, in Brooklyn. It was a reasonably big deal for me to get into college. Not the first in my family, but my generation was the first, you know?”

Steve nodded.

“So I was in college and doing pretty good with the whole engineering degree, sleeping my way across New York City, all of that.” Bucky grinned, inviting Steve to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I graduated and started looking for work and. Uh.” He licked his lips. “You know about the train accident. The one he died in,” he said, referring to the artist.

Steve nodded.

“I was in it too. That's how I lost my arm.” 

“Oh, honey,” Steve said, and Bucky shook his head, turning away a hug before it was offered.

“It was weird,” he said softly. “My arm was crushed. I cracked a few ribs and...that was it. If I'd been six inches to my right, I probably would have walked away. Six inches to my left, and I'd be dead.”

Steve made a sound, but didn't move.

Bucky took a deep breath. “So, yeah. That sucked a lot, to say the least. But I got a big settlement, and that was kind of...my seed money.” He smiled. “This sounds really, really up my own ass but...I'm not dumb, you know? I can look up investment managers and find a good one.” He shrugged. “So I started my own company, 'cause I'd already been designing the components. And it just kinda grew from there. But the first thing I bought was that guy's artwork. I always wanted to own real art, you know? And I had the money.”

“There...” Steve swallowed, and started again. “There weren't too many people that survived that.”

“Six of us,” Bucky agreed. “I was the worst hurt. It was...weird.”

“Can I give you a hug now?” Steve asked. “Please?”

“I'd like that a lot,” Bucky admitted, and laughed, throwing himself into Steve's arms. “So yeah. I'm gross new money.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve said warmly, and kissed him. “You're a fucking delight, Bucky Barnes.”

“Bite me,” Bucky told him cheerfully, and yelped when Steve chomped down on his ear. “Augh!”

“You asked,” Steve pointed out, and Bucky yelped, the two of them wrestling and making out on the sofa until Steve was on his back, Bucky lying across the top of him, and they were kissing like it was going to be taxed tomorrow.

“Can I suck you off?” Bucky murmured, and Steve nodded.

“If I can blow you afterwards,” he said, and Bucky laughed.

“Deal,” he agreed, sliding down to the foot of the sofa and rucking Steve's t-shirt up. He kissed the smooth plane of his belly, and undid the fly of his jeans.

“Are you just lazy, or were you hoping?” he asked, looking up after noting Steve's complete lack of underwear.

“It can't be both?” Steve started cracking up, and almost choked when he inhaled too quickly. Bucky's mouth was warm and wet around the head of his cock, tongue swirling slowly.

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve breathed, arching his back just a little. “Oh, honey. Yeah, like that.”

Bucky hummed his acknowledgement, enjoying the sound Steve made, and kept up the blowjob, going nice and steady, responding to Steve's encouragement. No experimenting; not just yet. Just a simple, nice, Sunday-afternoon orgasm.

Bucky was still wiping his mouth when Steve sat up and gently shoved him to sit, then knelt on the floor between his legs.

“Oh, fuck. You're gonna be so good, aren't you?” Bucky gloated, and Steve laughed, his hands warm and huge on Bucky's waist, thumbs playing with the points of his hips. The front of his jeans was bulging, and Steve nosed the warm fabric before undoing the button and zipper with his teeth.

“Show-off,” Bucky whispered, and Steve pinched him, then pulled down his jeans and briefs.

“Oh,” he said.

Bucky smirked.

“Jesus,” Steve said.

“Hmmm?”

Steve just sat back on his heels and admired the long, thick cock curving up towards Bucky's belly. 'Hung like a horse' didn't quite do it justice; a phrase way too overused. 'Soda can' came to mind. As did 'holy shit I want that in me'.

“It's not just for show,” Bucky said, and flicked Steve's ear.

“Fuck you, that thing is a work of art.” Steve grinned at him and kissed the inside of his thighs, one after the other.

It was an unfairly intimate, disarming motion, one that had Bucky already melting when Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky's cock and stretched his mouth wide, and did his best to do the gorgeous, glorious thing in front of him justice. And to have Bucky howling his name, apparently.

He worked Bucky over with mouth and hand, sucking hard, then pulling his mouth off to kiss the head, down the shaft, bury his face in Bucky's crotch and then lick his way back up. One hand was always on Bucky's cock, pumping steady and slow, and the other roamed, squeezing his thigh, or reaching up to caress his cheek.

Steve took as much as he could from where he was kneeling, lips wrapped around Bucky's girth and head bobbing, and he swallowed hungrily, moaning and suckling for more when Bucky finally came.

Bucky blinked, clearing his eyes to find Steve grinning at him from the floor, both of them magically put back to rights. “Get up here,” he growled, and hauled Steve up, the two of them laughing, kissing, Bucky making a face and Steve teasing him about it.

“C'mon,” he wheedled. “It's natural! That's what you taste like.”

Bucky made another face.

“Loser,” Steve said warmly, and settled down, draped across Bucky happily. Bucky wrapped his arms around him, and Steve savored it; the soft, warm arm, and the harder, metal one, the feel that was always going to be Bucky.

“You're a loser,” Bucky murmured, and Steve wriggled, then stilled again, relaxing with a great sigh.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured as they melted into the sofa in a delicious post-orgasm cuddle. “I know how you feel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _Hey baby, you busy tonight?_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Nope. You want to do something?_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _Yes! Do you want to go to Janet's show tonight? She's got a couple pieces in a little local fashion show._

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _YES!!_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _Sweet! I'm walking for her, but I'll be able to hang out with you after._

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _WHAT_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _WHAT OMG_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _YES I WANT TO HANG OUT WITH MY HOT MODEL BOYFRIEND_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _oh my lord_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _Bucky, it's just a favor for a friend :)_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Cuz you're HOT_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Can I sit in the front row? can I dress like Anna Wintour? Can I BE Anna Wintour?_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _Yes, Yes and no._

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Hmph_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _it's not a big thing, really baby. But there'll be a fun afterparty_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _obvs. do you want me to meet you there, doll? Or we can hang out beforehand?_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _I have to get there stupid early for makeup and stuff, I'm sorry :( I'll text you when and where, though?_

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Hey don't be sorry. let me know if I can help at all, too._

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _will do. can't wait to see you again, Buck._

_**Bucky [eggplant emoji]:** _ _Same here, sweetheart :*_

_**Steve [kiss emoji]:** _ _:* :)_

 

Steve contemplated getting the make-up off, but after one look from Janet, abandoned all hope of stealing her face wipes. “Okay! Okay. When I'm picking glitter out of my ears for the next week, though, it'll be your fault.”

“I don't really care,” she informed him, and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. All of her models had a band of colored glitter across their faces, running over their eyes. There was heavy, dark blush to sharpen cheekbones and dark blue lipstick which he was slightly afraid might take a day or more to come off. Men and women, all of Janet's models were done up the same, and all wore fitted, heavily-embroidered clothes. Steve thought he looked ridiculous, but in a very well-designed way.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bucky breathed, as soon as Steve had escaped backstage and went to find his boyfriend, having at least changed into nice jeans and one of Janet's shirts. “You look even better close up.”

Steve blushed and scratched the back of his head. “Shut up.”

“I'm serious!” Bucky smiled shyly. “Can I give you a kiss, or will that mess something up?”

Steve shot the world a glare, and scooped Bucky up into a huge hug and a very lengthy kiss. “You can always give me a kiss,” he said firmly. “And fuck the consequences.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, and reached for another kiss, this one a little quicker. His arms were tight around Steve's shoulders, though, no longer careful of his clothes.

“Hi,” Steve murmured, when they'd finally finished kissing. “You look wonderful, Buck. Janet made those pants, didn't she?”

Bucky nodded, smile growing. “Uh huh, first piece I bought from her. And, thanks.” He winked. “I gotta hold my own with my hot model boyfriend, you know?”

Steve groaned. “Oh my  _God_ , don't start. It's a favor, and it'll cover like half my rent, so that's  _really_ nice _.”_

Bucky frowned as they slipped arms around each others' waists, heading for the bar in the corner. “You doing okay, baby?”

Steve laughed. “I'm  _fine_ , honest. I mean, as fine as any broke-ass artist in the city.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and made a displeased face, but Steve stuck his tongue out and made him laugh.

Bucky bought their drinks anyway, and they settled happily into definitely not hiding in a corner, talking about the rest of the designers. Janet flew by at one point and kissed them both, but neither of them knew anyone else, and they were happy to keep to each others' company for the moment. Or the rest of the night.

“Want to head out?” Steve asked, coming up for air from the latest round of Bucky's kisses.

Bucky grinned at him. “My place or yours?”

“I'm closer,” Steve admitted, and smiled shyly. “If you wanna go back to yours, though...”

“Nah, close is good,” Bucky said, nuzzling Steve's throat. “I haven't even seen your apartment yet.”

“C'mon then. We're stopping by a CVS so I can get makeup wipes, though,” Steve complained.

“You got coconut oil?” Bucky asked.

“Am I a millennial or not?”

Bucky sighed. “Jesus Lord.  _Anyway_ , it'll take everything off and leave your face feeling really nice, trust me.”

Steve grinned at his hot, brilliant boyfriend, and kissed him on the cheek. “You can clean my face off.”

Bucky snorted, and then gave him a thoughtful look. “How annoying is it? To have the makeup on?”

“I can definitely feel it,” Steve admitted as they headed out into the night. “Why?”

“Uh. You mind keepin' it on for a bit?”

“Aww, Barnes. You don't like my face?” Steve cooed.

“Not really,” Bucky said, and cackled as he dodged a healthy smack.

They swiped through at the subway stop and Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky as soon as they were on the platform, leaning back against the wall. “Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey, you.” Bucky kissed him. “ _Yes_ , at long last _I'm_ in the annoying demonstrative couple,” he cheered, and punched the air.

“I think it's cute,” Steve said, looking forlorn. “Seeing people in love.”

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, amazed at this unicorn of a man before him. “You _like_ watching people make out in public?”

“Yeah! It's so sweet, they're always just completely oblivious to the outside world,” Steve said, fingertips playing along Bucky's waist. “You don't think it's nice?”

“Are you serious?” Bucky asked. He was either in love, or had found an alien dressed in a human suit, he wasn't sure.

“Oh, fuck no.” Steve's voice was still light and cloying. “I fuckin' hate watching people suck face in the subway, and I'd carry a water pistol if it wouldn't get me shot.” He grinned as Bucky started cracking up. “I mean, ew, for one thing. I am probably catching about fifty diseases just standing next to this wall.”

Bucky laughed harder.

“I am! God, we're gross,” he said, and turned around, wiggling his back and butt on Bucky's front. “There, now you're gross too.”

Bucky yelped and shoved him away, and Steve shoved back, so Bucky tried to pinch him, and then their train was there, and it was probably good. There was a nonzero chance that Steve actually  _had_ just rubbed about fifty diseases onto Bucky, and he needed to strip down and burn their clothes.

Or just strip down. That was the gist of what he wanted, really.

Steve's block was quiet, lined with dull postwar buildings, and he let them into one of the ones mid-block. 

“I've got two housemates,” he explained quietly, leading Bucky up to the third floor, “but they're probably still out. They usually work or disappear for the weekend.”

“Nice,” Bucky said, and nuzzled Steve's neck as he let them in and turned on the lights.

The living room was small and nondescript, clearly full of three peoples' things. 

“You want a glass of water or something?” Steve asked. “I've got beer, too.”

“Mmm.” More nuzzling. Steve smelled so nice. “Maybe later. Wanna see your bed.”

Steve laughed and gathered Bucky close, giving him a searing kiss. “I wanna see you in my bed,” he agreed.

His bedroom was at the end of a long hallway, and smelled of oil paint and turpentine.

“Oh.” Bucky made a beeline for a canvas in one corner, set up across from a chair draped in silk and flanked by huge fake flower arrangements. The painting was half-done, though the woman seated in the chair was the farthest along. She was beautiful, comfortable in her nudity, and smiled like she knew a secret. “Oh, Steve, this is gorgeous.”

Steve laughed, wrapping his arms around Bucky and kissing the back of his neck. “Thank you. I wish I could afford Nat for longer, but I'm pretty happy with what I managed.”

“She's stunning. Your work is stunning.” Bucky turned around and kissed him. “Sorry,” he said, not looking sorry one bit. “I got distracted.”

Steve laughed, but he also slipped his hands under Bucky's shirt, lightly scratching the skin of his back and making him stretch and sigh and go boneless. “I'll show you everything.” A soft kiss. “Later.”

“I c-can do later,” Bucky sighed, his voice stuttering as Steve bit his collarbone. “Kinda only wanna look at one thing right now.”

“What, me?” Steve purred, pulling Bucky's shirt off.

“Uh huh. You.” Bucky stripped Steve's shirt, and went for a nipple, licking and nibbling. “You sucking my cock, preferably.”

Steve gave a full-body shudder. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, and started to undo Bucky's jeans. “Bed, baby. Now.”

Bucky laughed and let Steve toss him onto the bed, grinning when it creaked alarmingly. Neither of them were particularly small men, but they could cram in for all Bucky cared.

They stripped each other quickly, and he moaned when Steve managed to turn on a lamp and hit the big overhead light. The glitter on his face barely caught the light, his eyes receding and dark, face transformed by the makeup and shadows.

Bucky hauled him up for a harsh kiss, then let him go again, arching and writhing as Steve kissed down his chest and his belly, making small, hungry noises as his mouth wrapped around Bucky's cock.

He drew it out – Bucky could  _tell_ that's what he was doing, and it was agony, but he also didn't much care. Steve's lips were dark around the head of his cock, his tongue warm and wet and busy.

Bucky gasped and moaned, rolled his hips and tapped Steve's shoulder when he was close, and Steve just closed his eyes and moaned and sucked a little harder, and that was that.

When he could think enough to return the favor, Bucky did his best, taking Steve to the root, his right hand cupping Steve's balls, tight and warm against his fingers. Slowly, gently at first, he brushed the fingertips of his left hand across Steve's hole.

“Oh, baby,” Steve breathed. “Yeah. Oh, _yes_.” Bucky massaged the ring of muscle, not even pushing in yet, just touching. He looked up when Steve pressed a bottle of lube against his shoulder and smirked to himself.

He pulled his head back, letting go of Steve's cock with a wet sound, and grinned up at him. “You wanted something?”

“Go die in a hole.”

Bucky grinned, sticking his tongue between his teeth, and snagged the bottle. “You got a condom or a glove or something, sweetheart? Cleaning lube out of my hand is a bitch and a half,” he explained.

Steve's eyes softened, because he was a gigantic loser, and he leaned over and kissed Bucky, and Bucky melted, because he was a  _bigger_ gigantic loser. “Nitrile okay?” he asked. “I'm allergic to latex.”

“Good to know. And of course it's fine.” Bucky smiled when Steve tossed him a glove and pulled it on, coating it with lube and getting back to business. It wouldn't be _quite_ as sexy as just his hand, but Steve wouldn't feel the difference, and Bucky didn't have his cleaning kit here.

He played, more than anything else. Played with his tongue and mouth, finding out what made Steve wail the most. Played with his fingertips, slowly pushing his index finger in, then his middle, neither very far but enough to tease and to make Steve's hips jerk. He played with caressing Steve's thighs and reaching up to play with the swell of his chest, the curves sweet under his palms. It had been something magical to have Steve looking up at him, but this angle was just as delicious.

Bucky took his time, building up, and gloried in the look on Steve's face, the way he bit his arm to keep from crying out too loudly, and the lush way he filled Bucky's mouth. Bucky lapped happily and licked his lips, savoring the intimacy. He finally let go of Steve's cock and got rid of the glove before joining him on the bed, curling around him with a kiss.

Steve gave a little moan, and Bucky was pretty happy to rest beside him. Not quite dozing, but floating, very pleased with himself, and idly snooping what he could see of Steve's room. Art everywhere, of course, his own work and posters and work by friends, presumably, cramming the walls. Aside from the easel, the chair, and a set of cheap plastic drawers holding art supplies, there was a beat-up dresser and what Bucky assumed was the door to a closet. And, of course, the bed, which wasn't more than a mattress on basic frame.

Bucky turned and kissed Steve softly, preferring to focus on the sweet man in his arms. They were both a little gross, and Steve's makeup was wrecked, but that could be fixed pretty easily. Post-coital glow was meant to be enjoyed.

They kissed each other, easy and a little sleepy, and Steve rubbed Bucky's back and kissed his shoulder. “So this is my place.”

“I like it,” Bucky said immediately, because he did, and also because he would literally die before letting Steve think that Bucky might be uncomfortable, or judgy, or anything like that. Fuck, this was no different than his bedroom growing up. Or his place before the accident. “It's perfectly you,” he explained. “All the art. Your painting, and everything on the wall.” He grinned a little. “It's cozy, and I like seeing where you create. It's beautiful in here.”

“It's poky and stuffy and smells like paint,” Steve corrected, but he was smiling wide. “Thank you, though.”

Bucky kissed him. “Go get the coconut oil and some tissues or paper towels and I'll get your makeup off,” he ordered. “It's easier before you shower, believe it or not.”

Steve grinned at him. “You have sisters, right?”

“Uh huh. But _this_ trick comes from being emo.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Steve said, a little worshipfully. “Pictures. Pictures, _please_.”

“Ugh, if you're good,” Bucky teased, and kissed Steve again. “And I wear mascara sometimes, or maybe a little eyeliner.”

Steve just smiled and kissed back. “You have beautiful eyes, I can see why you'd want to bring them out.” Another kiss. “Be right back, honey.”

“Honey yourself.” Bucky stretched out, lazily watching Steve throw on a pair of boxer shorts and head, presumably, for the kitchen.

He came back with a jar of coconut oil and, apologetically, a roll of toilet paper. Bucky sat up crosslegged and had Steve sit across from him and close his eyes. Carefully, delicately, he took off all the makeup, and wiped Steve's skin clean, ending with a kiss right between his eyes.

“You can have first shower,” Steve said, opening his eyes slowly, that wide smile lighting his face up. “I'll get you a towel.” He leaned forward and kissed Bucky, then got up and got a clean towel out of the closet. “First door on your right,” he said. “Help yourself to anything in the gray basket in the shower, that one's mine.”

“You're so nice to me,” Bucky teased, and tucked the towel around his waist. He showered quickly and felt all the better for it, cleaning off the sweat and the sex. 

He came back to the cutest scene imaginable. Steve was taking out his contacts – how had Bucky not known he wore contacts? – and slipped on a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. They were big, the glass thick enough to distort Steve's eyes so that they were huge.

“You're _adorable_ ,” Bucky declared, and Steve laughed.

“Uh huh, you're still drunk,” he teased. “Oh, I took my hearing aides out. I can lipread okay, but make sure you talk clearly, and I can see your mouth.”

“Got it,” Bucky said with a nod, and kissed Steve's shoulder in passing before crawling into bed.

Steve likewise showered quickly, and Bucky soon had big warm body up against his. They shuffled around a little to get comfortable, Steve winning the battle for little spoon this time. 

Bucky pinched his nipple in revenge, threw a leg over his hip, and fell asleep deeply happy, arm draped around his cute boyfriend, his face pressed into Steve's hair, breathing in the smell of his shampoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky woke up and tensed, before he remembered where he was. This was Steve's bedroom, in Steve's bed. He was safe, it was just a new place.

“Morning, baby.”

Bucky rolled over and smiled up at him. “Morning,” he said as clearly as he could, and held his arms out for a hug and kiss, which were duly delivered. He checked quickly while Steve was in his arms – hearing aides still out. Well, at least it was quiet in here.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asked, sitting back up and rubbing Bucky's chest. A sketchbook and charcoal pencil had been put to the side.

“Uh huh.” Bucky stretched and smiled up at him. “What were you drawing?”

“You.” Steve showed him the nearly-finished sketch of Bucky sleeping, his face half in the pillow. 

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, clearly completely delighted. “You _wanted_ to draw me?”

Steve gave him an odd look, but he was smiling warmly too. “Well, of course.” He leaned over and kissed Bucky's forehead. “You're kinda cute, y'know.”

Bucky laughed and batted him away. “Shut up. I'm okay.” He grinned at Steve. “Sorry I woke up.”

“Well, I'm not, now I get to hang out with you,” Steve teased, and kissed him again. “You want coffee, honey? There's still plenty.”

Bucky nodded and made to get up, laughing when Steve shoved him back into bed. “Fine, fine.”

Steve stuck his tongue out. “I won't hear if you call me,” he warned.

Bucky held his arms out for another hug, which he got. “You can hear me right now?” he asked softly, but clearly, into Steve's ear.

Steve nodded.

“Good. I adore you, sweetheart. Hurry back to bed.”

Steve gave a full-body shiver, but he also hurried, so Bucky was pretty pleased.

“Will you draw me again?” Bucky asked shyly, once he had coffee in hand.

“Do you want me to?” Steve asked, wondering if was possible to die from being charmed.

Bucky hid behind his hand and mumbled something.

Steve laughed and pulled his hand down and away. “Say that again?”

“Yeah, I do.” Bucky had to repeat it once before before he was clear enough, and was bright red.

“Why are you so embarrassed? Of course I want to draw you, sweetheart.” Steve pulled him into a little cuddle. “You're so gorgeous. And more than that, you have an amazing face, and great expressions. I like looking at you.”

Bucky blushed harder. “I'm okay. And it's a little full of myself, to ask you to turn me into art, you know?”

“Nope. I don't know.” Steve kissed the top of his head. “You're a work of art already, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head, but he didn't protest, and stayed snuggled up to Steve's side while he finished his coffee and accepted the occasional little kiss to his forehead.

Steve did wind up drawing him that day, in between curling up together and talking, learning a bit more about each other. Bucky learned that Steve had always been hard-of-hearing, and it had gotten worse for a little while, but seemed to be plateauing. Steve learned Bucky had three sisters and a single niece who was perfect and precious in every way.

Bucky decided he was addicted to touching Steve, hardly able to keep his hands off his gorgeous guy; even the charcoal-stained fingers were attractive and in need of kissing. And naked, Steve was a thing of pure beauty.

Bucky knew he had a decent body and face; he wasn't  _dumb_ . But the way Steve looked at him, undressing him, was addictive. The way Steve was  _gentle_ with him; the way he kissed Bucky's shoulder where metal met skin, and the way he laid him down on his bed – that was definitely addictive.

They made love slow and a little shy, still learning what the other liked, still learning their bodies. Bucky was tender at first until Steve gave him a little shove, and when he asked Steve to go a little easier – well, if he'd actually been made of porcelain, Steve's soft touches would have been justified.

Kissing, talking, making love, eventually getting up and figuring out lunch based on whatever was on Steve's shelf in the fridge, more kissing and talking. It hurt when Bucky finally had to go home that evening, and he made it about fifteen minutes before texting his boyfriend. It was to send him a picture of a cute dog, but still.

Summer ended, glorious and golden, with Bucky talking Steve into letting him take them both away for a week on a lake in New Hampshire, in a deliciously private cabin. They swam and cooked together, watched movies and hiked, and made love as they liked. Steve worked the bare minimum he needed to, and Bucky got a much-needed break, learning that he  _loved_ to lie on a sofa and read and watch Steve draw. Steve appeared to take it as his responsibility to force Bucky to relax and not think about work, and Bucky was pretty well ready to let him. Especially when he realized he wasn't waking up tense anymore, that morning were soft, sweet things with birdsong and Steve on the other side of the bed, usually already up and ready with a smile and a little cuddle.

They came back to the New York and even Bucky's physical therapist commented on how much less stressed he was. The combination of worry and pride that Steve exhibited when Bucky passed this message on was endearing, to say the least. And if he found Steve not-always-gently steering him away from checking e-mail on the weekends, well.

So summer poured out into autumn, full of dates and meals out, Bucky slowly getting Steve to let him pay at least most of the time. They hung out with friends, and together; Bucky, who had been fairly solitary, found himself with a circle of amazing, artistic people around him, and finally admitted, one night, that he might have a spark of creativity in him.

Steve's response to  _that_ was just embarrassing.

The time passed beautifully and joyfully. Bucky had to go to Germany for a week for a conference, and he missed Steve so much it physically ached; Steve was at his apartment when he got home and they didn't leave for the entire weekend, they got so drunk on each other.

And things would probably have continued just like that, if it hadn't been for some total dick failing to clean up after his dog.

 

“Hey baby, what's up?” Steve asked, answering his phone.

“Hey, uh, are you free right now?” Bucky asked.

“I can be,” Steve said, looking at the palette of oils he'd just laid out. “What's up?”

“Ugh. Okay, I'm _really really really_ sorry about this but I kinda fell and whacked my head pretty hard and I'm at the hospital but they literally will not let me leave unless there's someone here to pick me up. Seriously I just need you to, like, take me home and then you're free to go.”

Steve froze in place. “Bucky? You have a concussion?”

“Yeah.” The sigh that came through the phone was really eloquent. “I'm fine, honestly. This is so dumb, I'm really sorry, I'll pay for your Lyft and everything of course.”

“Bucky, that is literally the least of what I'm concerned with right now,” Steve said, very carefully and clearly because _his Bucky_ was in the hospital and concussions weren't to be played with and he was acting like this was some huge favor Steve was doing him, because what even was his boyfriend. “Where are you, baby?”

Bucky told him – thank heavens it was close by.

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” Steve said. “I promise. We'll get you home.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Bucky insisted, but Steve was already out the door and hailing a taxi.

 

When he had made his way through the maze of the hospital to find Bucky, he was not fine. Well, he was upright and sitting on a gurney and looking sort of grumpy, but there was a fresh white bandage on his forehead and gauze wrapped around his hand and Steve, to be fair, hadn't known he could move that quickly, to get to him and pull him into a hug.

“What happened to you?” he asked, and kissed him. Then kissed his forehead. Then held his hands gently, rubbing the backs of his wrists with his thumbs. 

“Are you done?” Bucky asked, clearly deeply amused.

“No.” Another kiss. “Okay, you got two minutes to explain yourself, Barnes.”

Bucky laughed at that and pulled Steve into a hug. “I'm  _fine_ . I mean, yeah, I have a concussion, but it's not a bad one, I just whacked my head really hard. It's so dumb, you're going to laugh.”

“Maybe, try me. You're usually not as funny as you think you are.”

Bucky snickered, and leaned his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve stroked the back of his neck, and decided to pretend that he could shut off the rest of the hospital, let Bucky rest and laugh and be happy. That he could protect this sweet man.

“I slipped on dog shit,” Bucky admitted, and okay, Steve snorted a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, it was dumb. It was also on a step, like, what dog shits _on the steps_? So I kinda went flying onto the sidewalk.”

“Oh, honey.” Steve tilted his chin up for a kiss. “Poor thing. You skinned your hand?” he guessed, touching the white gauze.

Bucky nodded, and sighed. “Steve, I feel like shit.”

“You want me to stay with you tonight?” Steve asked.

Bucky winced. “Will it be a pain for you if I say yes?”

“Bucky, I love you, you doofus. I can take care of you for a few hours.” Oh. He had been _meaning_ to say that first part, just...not at this exact moment. 

Bucky's smile was brilliant, and his eyes  _glowed_ . Why had Steve put this moment off? Oh, because he was a moron, right.

“You love me?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Well, yeah.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and dropped eye contact because some things were just a little too much. “I do. I love you.”

Bucky ducked his head and met Steve's eyes. “Good. I love you too.”

Steve giggled, warmth blossoming through his belly. “Come on. Let's get you home and comfortable, okay?”

Bucky nodded, and pressed back into Steve's arms. There were little lines of pain around his mouth – how had Steve not noticed them yet?

He got Bucky discharged and home with very little fuss, only mildly worried over how quiet his boyfriend was. Bucky admitted that he'd cut his forehead open in the fall, and had had to get a few stitches. And that his head ached, badly. And he felt a little sick. And dizzy.

Steve didn't  _quite_ carry him up to his apartment like he'd threatened, but he supported most of Bucky's weight, and made him lie down on the sofa as soon as he was inside. He administered painkillers, a cup of tea, a little dish of saltines, and another half-dozen kisses in between getting Bucky out of his shoes and under a blanket to offer some shield against the late autumn chill.

“Seriously, you don't have to stay with me,” Bucky told him.

“Seriously, I kinda do.” Steve settled on the floor by the sofa. “You're barely able to take care of yourself, and you said you felt pretty awful.” He kissed the back of Bucky's hand. “It's not a hardship, honey. I promise.”

Bucky smiled and touched Steve's hair. “Hey. I love you.”

Steve grinned and nuzzled Bucky's hip. “I love you too. You wanna watch a movie or something?”

Bucky made a face. “Ugh, moving light, no. You got sketchbooks and stuff here, right?”

“Uh huh. And one in my bag.”

“Will you draw? Whatever you want. I just...like watching you make art.”

“Of course,” Steve said, disgustingly touched. He kissed Bucky's hip and went to get the really nice sketchbook his boyfriend had surprised him with a few weeks ago. He'd stashed it here, along with some good pencils, and after pulling a big easy chair closer to the sofa, Steve settled down and got to work in the last of the day's light.

Bucky watched him, sleepy-eyed. Everything felt fuzzy and distant, but as long as he stayed perfectly still, nothing hurt too much. Watching Steve was endlessly fascinating, and the soft sound of pencil on paper lulled him into a doze and, finally, a nap.

He woke up after the sun had set feeling at least a little better. His head still ached, but the sick feeling had receded. Bucky decided to not try sitting up just yet, and rolled over instead, ginger with the bruises that were starting to come up.

Steve was still in the big chair, though he'd turned on a lamp, and he was frowning at his phone.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, wondering idly just how he'd lucked into such a guy.

“Hmm? Oh, hey, you're awake!” Steve grinned at him. “How d'you feel?”

“Slightly less rotten.” Bucky yawned. “You okay? Please tell me you got something to eat.”

“Nah, you haven't been out that long.” Steve sighed and shoved his hair off of his face. “And I'm okay, honestly. Just, the owner is selling the building and the new guy doesn't want tenants 'cause he's gonna do the place up first. So I have to find someplace new to live.”

“Oh, man, that sucks.” Steve apartment _sucked_ , but it was cheap, and actually not in a bad location. Bucky pushed himself up and waited for the dizzy spell to pass. “Anything I can help with?”

Steve smiled wryly. “Babe, you're a wonderful person, but I'm pretty sure you don't know where to find a cheap three-bedroom in Brooklyn.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah. Not gonna lie to you, love, buying my own place was the best thing I ever spent money on.”

“Smarty.” Steve sighed. “If you hear of anything, let me know?” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Also if you have a particularly rich friend who'd like to buy a painting, I could use a security deposit.”

“All my friends are your friends,” Bucky pointed out. “I'm literally the only person you know who isn't a broke artist.”

Steve stuck his tongue out. “Ughhh. Time to start picking up any work I can.”

Bucky frowned. “Wait, what? Like, something other than art?”

“Well, yeah. That's not really cutting it, y'know?” Steve made a face. “I've been facing this down for awhile. Art should just be my hobby, honestly.”

“No! I mean...you're so good. Steve, you're _really good,_ ” Bucky insisted. “And, okay, I know that doesn't translate to making a living, I'm not that naive. But it's stupid, because you should be able to make a living off of this thing you're so brilliant at.”

“Yeah, but who ever promised you a fair world?” Steve asked, and Bucky gave him a crooked smile.

“Point,” he said, and wrapped his flesh hand around the metal one, squeezing the plates slightly.

Oh. Well, there was a solution.

“Move in with me.”

“What?” Steve asked

“Move in with me. No security deposit, no rent. I can afford...well, pretty much anything you want,” Bucky admitted. “Seriously. You shouldn't have to worry about this.”

“Are you offering to be my sugar daddy?” Steve asked, his lips twitching.

“Well...yeah. Yeah. As much as you want me to be,” Bucky said. “Dude. We love each other. You need a place to stay. I can support you. Let you be an artist.”

Steve blinked. “I...huh. I mean, it's a solution.”

Bucky held his hands out. “Please, Steve?” There was a tiny, tiny thrill in his belly. “Please. I love being able to give you good things, take you to beautiful places, you know that. You make my life so much less lonely. I  _want_ to support you.” He grinned. “Like Engels and Marx, but less fucked-up.”

Steve laughed out loud at that and moved to sit beside Bucky, rearranging the blanket on his lap. “Should I even be listening to you? What with the concussion.”

“I mean, legally, no. But I'm not gonna change my mind.” Bucky leaned against Steve, a little grateful for the support in a sudden wave of dizziness. “Please. I kinda _do_ want to be your sugar daddy, to be honest.”

“Let me think about it,” Steve said, and kissed Bucky's hair. “I don't want to say yes or no right now. And you should be resting, not worrying about these things,” he chided.

“I'm not worrying, I'm giving you a solution,” Bucky argued, but he also let Steve tuck him back under the blanket. He closed his eyes tightly, and squeezed back when Steve squeezed his hand in comfort. “'m okay.”

“Uh huh. You cuddle up, and I'll make something nice for dinner, maybe make your tummy a little happier.” Steve touched Bucky's cheek, then squeezed his metal hand. “And don't worry, _or_ come up with a solution, dingbat. Just rest, and get better for me, okay?”

Bucky smiled. “Kay.”

“Good. I love you. Yell if you need anything, I'll just be in the kitchen,” Steve instructed, and kissed the point of Bucky's cheekbone.

“Love you too.” Bucky giggled. “I can't get tired of saying it.”

“Me either.” Another little kiss, and Steve went to start dinner, while Bucky dozed on the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

“So I thought about moving in with you,” Steve said, once he'd settled down and handed Bucky his coffee. It was a few days later, and Bucky swore he was feeling considerably better; enough to go out, at least. There was a little line of stitches just by his hairline, and he still had some impressive bruises, but otherwise all was back to normal.

“Me too,” Bucky said, and grinned at him. “My offer still stands.”

“I...think I want to move in with you,” Steve admitted. “I love your place, to begin with.”

Bucky preened appropriately.

“The guy who lives there is okay too, I guess,” Steve continued, and accepted Bucky's eye-roll with a smirk. “Uh. I thought a lot about what it means for you to support me.”

“Yeah?” Bucky's voice was quiet enough that Steve had to strain to hear it.

“What's in it for you?” Steve asked bluntly.

Rather than be offended, though, Bucky smiled and nodded. Of course. Because Steve had found literally the perfect man to fall for, because  _why not_ . “Yeah, that's fair. I mean...I love you. That's a big part of it. It means a huge amount to me that I can take care of the people I love.” Bucky smiled wistfully. “I've had  _so many_ people take care of me. You know what it's like, yeah? To be...that unhealthy.”

Steve made a face. “Yeah, but mostly I'm just cranky and resentful.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I'm getting a hotel room if you ever get so much as a cold,” he teased. “Look, imagine you had money. Enough to live comfortably and do, if not everything you ever wanted, a least a fair bit of it. What would you do?”

“Buy a nice apartment. Buy Mom a nice place to live too.” Steve grinned shyly. “Buy all the art I want, and travel. Take people I love out to dinner. Help them. Yeah, yeah, you got a point.”

Bucky shrugged. “I'm in this position because I got incredibly unlucky.”

“And because you're brilliant,” Steve countered. “Don't try to snow me, sweetheart. Your seed money came from the accident. But what you got now, that's because you're the smartest person I've ever met, and you have brilliant ideas that you see through, and make a reality.”

Bucky was bright red. “Dammit, I forgot you  _listen_ .”

Steve cackled and reached over the table, wrapping his hand around Bucky's metal hand and squeezing, then tracing a line of seam with his thumb. “I do! But  _anyway_ . Okay. I understand caring for people you care about. But that can't be everything, or we're doomed.”

Bucky nodded. “You're right. But...you give me so much. I mean, in addition to coming to haul me home from the hospital and fix dinner,” he said, gesturing towards his forehead.

“Anybody'd do that,” Steve argued.

“Not really.” Bucky looked down. “You may have noticed I don't have a ton of friends.”

“You were friends with Janet before I met you,” Steve countered.

“Barely.” Bucky smiled at him. “A year ago? I honestly don't know who I would have called. It's not anyone's fault, I just...was really solitary. Am. I don't trust so easily – long story, but yeah. And you. I can _rely_ on you. Or if you'd been really busy, I could have called another of our friends, and they'd have taken me home and sat with me until you could come. And that's amazing to me.”

“Well, it shouldn't be, but okay,” Steve grumbled.

“So you give me that,” Bucky continued. “Which isn't nothing. And you give me beauty. Steve, I don't think you understand what it means to me to be able to help you make art. To do these amazing things I can't even start to do...that means _so much_ to me,” Bucky tried to explain. “I get to live with you covered in paint and smelling like turps and see the beautiful things you make in the world, and all it takes is some cash to keep you going. I mean, that's all it takes to keep me going, technically, but my creativity is in a sector that actually turns a profit.” He grinned when Steve laughed. “Does this help, hon?”

“It does,” Steve said. “You don't want to rescue me, or anything like that. Yeah, you'll totally be my sugar daddy, but it's a two-way exchange.”

“I want it to be. Oh, and hey, one other thing.” Bucky met his eyes, gaze fixed. “I want you to keep the money you earn. Put it in a bank account I don't have access to and never will. This is literally my only condition – that you always have enough back-up so you don't feel trapped into living with me. If things end, I want you to be okay, and to always know you can leave.”

“I promise.” Steve put down his coffee and reached out, hands now around Bucky's forearms and squeezing a little. “What happened to you, love?”

Bucky shook his head. “Another time?”

“Another time,” Steve agreed. “Or never is okay. Whatever you need.”

“No, it's okay. It's just a long story. And, uh, you might cry. Or get angry. Not something for a coffee shop, you know?”

Steve squeezed Bucky's arms again. “Okay. Honestly, just to make sure I catch everything you say, a quieter place might be good,” he admitted wryly.

Bucky giggled, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “I love you. You'll move in with me?”

“I'll move in with you. And I love you too.” Steve winked. “Sugar daddy.”

“Oh _Jesus_ don't you start with that,” Bucky groaned, while Steve laughed his ass off.

They finished their coffee, playing footsie under the table and making plans for when Steve could move his stuff into Bucky's apartment. He argued to pay for his own studio space and won, but only because Bucky knew he'd be sharing digs with a few other artists and it would be dirt cheap.

From the coffee shop they walked to Janet's, with Steve only fretting about Bucky part of the way. Bucky only somewhat pretended to be annoyed by it, and basked in the attention otherwise.

“Seriously,” Steve said, turning to face him and taking his hands. “If you feel awful, we can go right home, love.”

Bucky laughed and leaned in for a kiss. “I feel fine. A little achey, still, but we're just hanging out with friends. I'll find something soft to sit on.”

“Okay.” Steve pulled him into a hug. “You're gonna regret giving me permission to take care of you.”

“Literally never,” Bucky sighed, and relaxed into his hold.

“Good,” Steve whispered into his ear, then kissed it.

 

Sam was already at Janet's place and he let them in, greeting both of them with a hug and ushering them in. “Hey guys, good to see you. You're looking great, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” he said, blushing a little because Sam was unspeakably gorgeous and it made Bucky sometimes forget how to person.

“Babies!” Janet yelled from where she was standing on a little step-stool, getting at something stored over a cupboard. “Come give me a hug, both of you.” She giggled when Steve hoisted her up a few inches and then set her down gentle as anything.

“Bucky, let me see you,” she demanded, and he held obediently still so she could examine his stitches. “Oh, poor thing,” she said, and kissed his forehead. “Very neat work, though. You feeling better, sweetheart?”

“Right as rain,” he assured her, and gave her another hug. “I promise.”

“Good.” Janet ruffled his hair, retrieved a slightly dusty bottle of wine, and hopped down from the step-stool. “You okay for this, Bucky-love? I've got iced tea if you'd rather.”

“A glass of wine is allowed,” Bucky said, deeply bemused and not a little completely touched. “It's a few days out, guys. I'm doing a lot better.”

“Good,” Sam said, and shifted over so Bucky could settle next to him on the sofa and probably die of heart failure after Sam breathed on him too attractively. 

Steve dropped a kiss on the top of his head and settled down on Sam's other side. Wineglasses distributed, they all settled down for a good catch-up, which more or less immediately turned into shrieking when Steve shyly admitted he'd be moving in with Bucky.

“Thank God,” Sam said fervently. “That shitty apartment was gonna kill you someday.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Little dramatic there?”

“Do you have to take allergy meds when you spend the night at Bucky's? No?” Sam grinned smugly. “I win.”

Bucky leaned past Sam and frowned.

“A little Claritin never killed anybody,” Steve said.

“You're staying with me tonight,” Bucky informed him, then paused. “Please?”

“If you don't, I will,” Janet told Steve.

“I was going to _anyway_ ,” Steve said, and changed the subject.

Gossip turned into a round of Settlers of Catan, which Bucky, much to his surprise, excelled at, winning the first game.

“I swear I've never played before,” he protested, laughing.

“I got me a smart one,” Steve gloated, while Sam mock-glared at him.

“I'll get you next time, Barnes,” he threatened.

Emboldened by a glass of wine, Bucky fluttered his eyelashes. “You promise?” he cooed.

Sam threw a pillow at him, while Janet sighed loudly and Steve rolled his eyes.

“No one appreciates me,” Bucky said with a very satisfied sigh, settling back on the sofa with only a slight wince. His back was a _wreck_.

“Nope,” Sam said cheerfully, and whapped him lightly with a pillow again. “Stop making heart-eyes for a minute, you up for another round?”

Bucky nodded eagerly, and they re-set the board. And he  _was_ up for more gaming, except for the blinding headache that started up just as he was about to win, and the ratcheting pain in his back and tailbone, and long story short, Sam won.

“Next time,” Bucky threatened.

“Yes, I will kick your ass next time,” Sam agreed. “Now go home, you're the color of paper.”

Bucky groaned. “Fuck off. I'm sorry, guys.”

“Don't be, it's getting late anyway,” Janet assured him, while Steve probably silently died about twenty times on Sam's other side. He was an overprotective shit like that.

Whatever. Bucky would have his revenge the next time he took Steve out on a proper date. Or helped him move in. Or whatever he could throw money and affection at.

He collected hugs from Janet and Sam while Steve called them a Lyft, and then very, very gratefully let Steve take over steering his exhausted ass home, and then into bed.

“Sorry I suck,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, you're the worst,” Steve said, and pressed a soft kiss to Bucky's forehead. “Sleep well, honey. It'll only do you good. I'll be right here all night, okay? Wake me if you need anything.”

Bucky smiled. “Nah. 'm good,” He reached out, metal fingers brushing against Steve's hip, and fell fast asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect there will be one more chapter after this; I have a few ideas I don't want to give up, and a terrible joke I've got to work in :)

Bucky woke up feeling warm. That wasn't always the case – stupid fucked-up metabolism plus _metal arm_ – and he intended to enjoy it. Nothing hurt for once, and he sighed, and relaxed further into the warm cradle of his bed.

Someone was laughing softly. “Oh, precious.” Someone was kissing his shoulder; the good one. Brushing their lips over the henley he was sleeping in. Bucky sighed again.

That laughter, again. “Shhhh. You don't have to get up. Wake up easy for me, love.”

Steve.  _Steve_ who had finished moving in last night. They still had a dozen paintings to hang, but Steve was here, and lived with him. Bucky smiled and opened his eyes.

“Well, isn't that a sight,” Steve said, grinning. He had his glasses on at least, but Bucky was willing to bet it was too early for hearing aides. So he smiled and pulled Steve down for a kiss to tell him good morning.

“You want coffee?” Steve murmured in his ear, after they'd finished making out, and Bucky nodded. It was warm and cozy in the bed, and he didn't have to do much work that day; he could be lazy a little bit. Welcome his boyfriend home. Have a cup of coffee exactly the way he liked it, brought to him by a total cutie. He could definitely make time for that.

Bucky sipped his coffee and snuggled in the bed, watching Steve get ready for the day ahead. They'd mostly unpacked his clothes, so he was getting stuff out of the new dresser they'd bought, and the closet he shared with Bucky now. Jeans and a too-tight shirt; his usual uniform.

He slithered onto the bed, lying down next to Bucky's hip and kissed it through the soft pyjama pants he was wearing.

“You wanted something?” Bucky asked, deeply amused at his affectionate man.

“Uh huh.” Steve mouthed the top of his thigh, then kissed it. “For you to relax. Lie back. Maybe set the coffee down though.”

Bucky laughed out loud, but did as he was asked, relaxing and letting his legs drop open. He stroked Steve's hair, marveling at how soft it was, how it brushed heavy through his fingers.

Steve took his time, just as lazy and easy as the golden morning was. Bright sunlight flowed into the little lofted bedroom, and Bucky admired the way the light fell on his hair and dappled his skin. It was beautiful, the way Steve kissed Bucky's belly and slowly worked his pants down, nuzzling the pale skin and the wiry, dark hair just above his cock.

Steve groaned with joy when he finally pulled the soft fabric down far enough, letting the waistband wrap under Bucky's balls. He opened his mouth wide and wrapped his lips around the head of Bucky's cock, moaning and suckling happily. He pulled off with a wet kiss, and trailed his lips down, lapping and kissing as he went.

Steve's mouth was generous and sloppy, paying especial attention to the soft skin at the base of Bucky's cock, taking a moment to mouth his balls, and then returning to worshipping his cock. There was no other word for it.

It wasn't like Bucky didn't  _know_ he was huge. And he'd played around with enough size queens to know the effect he could have on people. But Steve  _worshipped_ him, in a way he'd never quite experienced before. Going again and again to stretch his mouth around Bucky's cock, yeah, but also cupping it in his hands and kissing the head, jacking him off slowly, then moving his hands again to Bucky's hips so he could better try to fit his mouth around it. 

He was playing, Bucky figured out. Learning what worked, what he could do and what he couldn't, all the while so attentive and tender that Bucky just gave up, and gave himself over. He was safe with Steve; he was sure of it. And so he tilted his head back and moaned, and gave over to the sweet sensations, the building pressure, the final orgasm.

Bucky yanked Steve up and laughed, cuddling and kissing him. “Thank you, love,” he murmured, and kissed him again. “Good morning to you, too.”

Steve smiled and ran his hands through Bucky's hair, then kissed him deeply. “A very good morning,” he agreed.

Bucky just grinned, flipped him over, and got to work returning the favor in the mellow morning sunlight.

 

After breakfast Bucky made them get up and unpack a little more of Steve's things. “You live here too, now,” he said simply. “I want to see your stuff. Also you're improving my walls by like five hundred percent.” Steve laughed at this, but he didn't protest when Bucky swapped out his less-favorite pieces for every single work of Steve's own that Steve had brought with him.

Steve helped him hang, adjusting heights and balances, and finally slipped his arms around Bucky, kissing him as they put up the last piece together. It was a landscape; unusual for him. A train rushing through a pastoral scene, a bit of human creation impeding an otherwise perfectly natural moment. Steve hadn't intended to hang it, what with the whole train thing, and admitted as much. Bucky's response was to laugh.

“Sweetheart, it's okay. It was a long time ago. I take trains everywhere still.” He cupped Steve's chin in his metal hand, thumb brushing gentle, _so_ gentle, across Steve's lips. “It's a beautiful painting. It's not like anything else you've done. Thank you for bringing it.”

Steve flushed and kissed the metal digit, and drew Bucky in for a firmer kiss. His baby was alive and well; happy and healthy and going to stay that way if Steve had anything to do about it. All was well.

 

After lunch, they had their first couples' fight. As expected, it was pathetic.

“So you can work, but I can't?” Bucky asked, arms crossed. Steve had begun setting up his little studio corner, and had gently yelled at Bucky when he started to head up to his in-home office, clearly intending to get a little work done on the sunny Saturday afternoon.

“Yes,” Steve informed him, musing over what to do. Maybe just a sketch of the view, to use as a background someday. A little warm-up; he definitely wanted this in a painting some day. Would it be too on-the-nose to have it be a portrait of Bucky? Probably, but whatever. His love had worked hard to make his whole apartment a work of art, it seemed fair to include it.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Steve shook himself out of his reverie. “Huh? Uh, no, sorry.”

He grinned when Bucky lost it and started laughing. “Thank you for your honesty,” he snorted out, and Steve grabbed him up into a big hug.

“You're welcome. Honey, I can work and you can't because I'm going to be doing this for _maybe_ three hours, and I know you'll get sucked into a hole and I won't see you for another six. And because you said yourself that you worked almost sixty hours already this week.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky's forehead. “Give your poor brain a rest. Do something else. Here, grab some of my charcoal and a book and draw with me.”

Bucky turned  _bright red_ . Within seconds. It was the cutest thing Steve had ever seen and that included every cat video in existence. “Oh my God, you're  _dark Irish_ you're not supposed to do that,” he said, charmed beyond belief.

“One, fuck you, you towheaded child,” Bucky said, the color receding very slightly. “Two...Steve, no. I don't want to waste your stuff.”

“Three, you're not wasting anything. Try it, it's fun,” Steve urged, dragging Bucky over to the sofa. He handed over a charcoal pencil and a pad of newsprint. “There, you won't even have to get your hand dirty.”

Bucky made a face at him, but Steve ignored him and started a fresh page in his sketchbook, warming up with a quick study of a pile of books Bucky had left on a side table. He continued to ignore his boyfriend, even as he sensed, just at his periphery, that Bucky was applying pencil to paper. Huh, good. Finally.

They worked together in silence for a good fifteen minutes, when Steve looked up, stretching a little, and glancing over at Bucky's work.

Bucky instinctively covered it with his hand, then dropped it with a guilty look. Honestly, Steve was expecting porn at that point, but it was just a study of a little succulent Janet had given them. “Hey honey,” Steve said softly. “You okay?”

“ _Yes_. Yeah, of course.” Bucky was still a little pink in the cheeks, and he smiled at Steve. “It's been ages since I drew something by hand.”

Steve looked at the drawing, and concurred, making Bucky laugh. “Shouldn't you lie and say it's great?”

“What good would that do? You know it's not,” Steve pointed out reasonably, and kissed Bucky, because that was a little bit mean. “Are you having fun?”

“Well...yeah. Yeah. I am. It's nice to just draw, and not be designing something or solving a problem or whatever.” Bucky looked up, blinked, and smiled so sweetly that it took Steve's breath away.

“Good. That's the point of it all, really.” Steve knocked their shoulders together, and flipped to another page in his book. “Keep at it. Let me know when the pencil goes dull, you gotta sharpen it in a weird way.”

“You really don't mind me using...never mind. Dumb question.”

Steve snorted and turned back to his work, and left Bucky to his fun.

By mid-afternoon Steve had the start of a landscape and at least two potential backgrounds, and Bucky had managed to finish his sketch of the succulent. It was wonky and he'd started over again three times, but there was something sweet to it, happy in its heavy-handedness.

They celebrated by making out for awhile, lazy in the slanting sunlight. Bucky couldn't stop smiling. His hand actually ached – God, that was dumb, he spent too much time on a keyboard – and he was a little bit covered in charcoal dust, but he had  _made something_ . Made it just for fun, because he liked how the plant looked, and because his boyfriend was next to him being brilliant and amazing.

Steve covered his face in kisses, and at one point traced Bucky's smile with a fingertip. “Now that's what I like to see,” he said warmly.

“Smudges everywhere?” Bucky asked, squinching his face and grinning. He laughed when Steve beeped his nose, and darted up to kiss him quickly. “I love you. Thank you.”

Steve stuck his tongue out, but kissed Bucky back. Then again. Then once more.

Then they did things other than kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

“It's a lot calmer than I thought it would be,” Bucky admitted, looking around the big room. They were in Janet's assigned section, and she was making some last-minute adjustments to someone's floaty dress before heading over to finish getting Bucky into his...shirt? The garment that will cover his upper body. Mostly.

“Well, it's not exactly New York fashion week,” Steve pointed out. Bucky made a face at him.

“I swear to God, if you screw up your makeup, you're gonna do it all over again yourself,” Janet called, and both men straightened up considerably, and hid their giggles. As did the poor girl getting her skirt a little more sequined.

Bucky checked a mirror, and patted the black stuff around his eyes delicately. Everything had been powdered and set in place, and his expressions had done nothing to shift the dark band going from temple to temple; a kind of domino mask. The deep black made his eyes glow pale blue in his face, and he smiled a little at his reflection.

Janet headed over and helped him into the corset-top, and began snapping and zipping him into it. There was a heavy metal zipper up the back, and he had to breathe in deep to get it to close, but it left him wasp-waisted. The straps in front could be snapped into place in a couple of configurations, and Janet set them in place in a crazed, asymmetrical pattern. When she was done, Bucky was pretty tightly encased in a sleeveless leather shell, his arms bared, the silver one gleaming.

(He and Steve spent a good hour the night before polishing it up, buffing away all the little scratches and smudges of life. Janet had been so surprised and pleased she kissed them both.)

Steve whistled happily. He was wearing a much more toned-down outfit, (well, toned-down for Janet) and he could also probably breathe easily and bend at the waist, so Bucky took great joy in narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend.

“No, he can't keep it,” Janet said briskly, adjusting Steve's dress. “IAnd it's tight enough that it'll be coming off as soon as he's walked, so you can take a picture and get off to that, Rogers.” She re-tied a ribbon and they were all done, just waiting for Janet's turn to walk in the little fashion show she got up with some friends from the neighborhood.

Bucky was going last, and he was trying not to be nervous about it. As much as he protested time and again that he wasn't an artist, and he really  _definitely_ was not a model, and he had no business doing anything but cheering heartily for Janet and maybe writing a large check to exchange for some clothes if she needed it, Janet had insisted that he model for her. “You're my muse for this collection, so suck it up,” she advised.

Steve had kept out of it until one night that saw Bucky nearly in tears, because  _he had no business_ . Steve finally, gently, cut him off and pulled him into a hug, then over to the sofa to sit down and have a glass of water. And then to explain quietly that Janet wouldn't ask Bucky if it didn't mean a lot to her. And that no one wanted to set him up to fail. That he was gorgeous and more creative than he realized. That he belonged in this fun, funky world, that he was one of  _them_ , now. That Steve would be walking in the show too, would be with Bucky the whole time, and would help him.

Bucky, finally and only a little reluctantly, agreed to be one of Janet's models, and now here he was, showing off both arms and encased in black and ready to go. Steve blew him a kiss; he was going out early of course, the bastard. But it would be a minute, maybe two, before Bucky went striding down the runway, wearing a cascading black skirt, heavy boots, and the leather shell.

“It's not Fashion Week,” he mumbled to himself, and then hit the runway, his face neutral, no expression. Okay, okay, that was the easy part. Stomping down the runway, also not hard. Janet had assured him he wasn't completely graceless, but whatever. Turn, do not fall down, walk back. He didn't dare look out into the small audience, even though he probably knew three-quarters of the people there.

Bucky thought he might not have breathed the whole time he was walking, but he took a cautious gasp as soon as he was offstage. Very cautious – Jesus, Janet, this thing was tight. Steve was out of arm's reach, but he caught Bucky's eye and grinned at him, and it was so wide and so perfect, Bucky finally relaxed.

They all went out at once with Janet on Steve's arm, for one last look, and then it was all over in a matter of seconds. And the rush of joy was probably only partly from Bucky finally getting enough oxygen, as Janet made a beeline for him and freed him from the corset top. He gasped a little bit of air, just for effect, and grinned at her. “You regret making me your muse yet?” he teased, and Janet glared daggers at him, so everything was perfect.

Steve headed for him as soon as he was free, and Bucky was very, very happy to rest in his arms for a moment. “See?” Steve bragged. “You did great.”

Bucky didn't even argue, just enjoyed taking deep breaths, and also the silky material of Steve's dress, and best of all that he was going home after walking in a fashion show, wearing Janet's art, made just for him and his body.

 

*

 

“Eat,” Bucky intoned, and shoved the burrito in Steve's face. “Eeeeeeeat.”

“I'll eat in five, Buck,” Steve said.

“You said that five minutes ago.”

Steve looked up and blinked. “I did?”

Bucky's face was, well. A picture. “Oops,” said Steve, and put down his paintbrush. “Lemme just cover this --”

“I'll cover everything,” Bucky said. “You, get food into you. I went to the burrito truck for you.”

“Aw, babe.” Steve gave him a huge, cheesy grin. It may have been stupid hipster food that cost a shocking amount of money but...it was also kind of worth it? He started wolfing the burrito down as Bucky covered his palette and brushes, all ready for him to pick up again once he'd eaten.

Okay, and maybe made out a little. Bucky had hiked out to the crowded truck for him, after all. And was apparently now his assistant.

They devoured the burritos, and moved to the kitchen for chips and guac, and the accompanying beers. And also a game of footsie.

Steve finally won, but only because Bucky got a giggle fit, and while it was adorable, it wasn't exactly sexy. Not in the way either of them really intended, anyway.

“We are not having sex on our kitchen floor,” Steve informed him, and Bucky tried not to thrill too much at Steve calling the floor _theirs_. That was pathetic.

Well, he'd been pathetic before, and it hadn't killed him then, either. He took Steve's hand and let his lover pull him up into an embrace, and a really good, if spicy, kiss.

“Yum, peppers,” Steve teased, and started to pull him through to the living room, then up the steps to their bedroom. Steve's art was all around them, and Steve himself was well-fed, full and happy and didn't have to worry for a second about where his next meal was coming from, or his next month's rent. He had a man to love, and to love him, and he had six half-finished paintings, and a big soft bed, and he was good. Everything was so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and for sticking by this story during my slow updates!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
